


tell me about the dream

by thicc_boi



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Drug Use, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, Trans Steve Rogers, kind of Post-Apocalyptic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-10-14 16:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thicc_boi/pseuds/thicc_boi
Summary: In the future, USA falls into a civil war, dividing the country into the rich and the poor. Bucky and Steve find themselves on the opposite sides of the border but they have a really bizarre connection. They quickly find out that they're soulmates and are willing to do everything to be together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a handy dandy map for y'all to (hopefully) better understand the concept.  
> https://imgur.com/a/duqSVGe

Steve was on the roof of the building his family owned, dozing in the shade of his little fruit trees. He had just finished watering all of the plants with the water filtered from the flooded underground train lines. The blueberry bush seemed to be flourishing, despite the polluted air and limited sunlight, and the flower bulbs that had been planted last week were beginning to sprout.

If it were safe, Steve would spend all day in his little garden. However, breathing the outside air for too long without also breathing filtered air caused people all sorts of problems. Lung cancer was much more common than it used to be with all of the chemicals filling each breath.

There was a construction site nearby making a lot of crashing noises. It was disturbing Steve’s short nap, so he chose instead to watch the cars on the street below. They were all weird colors, unlike the cars from Steve’s childhood. It was like the future was trying too hard to be futuristic. The buildings were huge, cars were faster than ever, some people had already started wearing weird and terrible clothes, and the rich had even found a way to separate themselves completely from the poor.

The country was divided into North and South, the North claimed by the rich, and the South containing those whom the rich had decided were not good enough. There were tons of people living in the North; if you had been smart enough to rob a bank or something when the division was being made, then you got to stay. But the majority of the country had been below the standards of those who ran it. No amount of connections can get you to where money will get you.

Steve could almost remember the day his family had moved out of their huge house in the country and into the large city building that had previously only contained offices for their business in producing a new type of air filter. They had added five more stories to the building, and turned them into a place to live. The neighborhood where they had been was turned into a factory, and their new life in the city began.

Before the move, Steve had never even been into the city. The first couple years of his life had been spent playing in the large yards around the house with family dogs and eating as many popsicles as possible before he got a stomach ache. When he was a teenager he began his transition. It wasn’t easy, but certainly much easier than it would’ve been years before.That had been eight years ago. He was twenty-four now.

What Steve actually remembered about their move was, strangely enough, watching another family leave the city as they drove in. There had been a boy about his age with dark brown hair and a woman who must have been his mother. The boy was dragging a large suitcase behind him, and the mother had on two backpacks, and another suitcase pulled along behind her. She had scowled at the car Steve was in. At the time, Steve hadn't known why she was angry, or why they had so many bags with them. But now he knew. They had been kicked out; forced into the South due to the lack of money and social status.

An old car rumbled along the street below and steve turned away to face his garden. He took a deep breath, intending to sigh, but all that came out was a harsh cough.

 _Time to go in,_ he thought.

Every apartment in the North had a ventilation system - installed by Steve’s family’s company - that not only filtered the air, but added stuff to it. What the stuff was, was way past Steve. He just knew that breathing the inside air made his coughing stop. It did something in people's lungs to remove the pollutants that they had inhaled. In the South, there were still good ventilation systems for the buildings, but they only filtered the air. It was almost as though the people who had set up the South during the division hadn't wanted the poor to die, but they also hadn't wanted them to live comfortably.

Inside now, Steve was restless. He sat on his bed, immediately got up, paced around his room once, then walked out. He briefly thought about going to the gym upstairs, that his father Howard had insisted on building for Steve, but he already worked out in the morning. He just needed to get out of the house. His garden was relaxing, but it was still too close to home, and nothing good had ever come of this place.

Steve took the elevator down to the garage level of the building and tried to avoid making eye contact with himself in the mirror walls. He walked quickly to his motorcycle, put on his helmet, and maneuvered out into the street.

The weather was almost cold. In the huge city, the buildings magnified the internist of the wind, making seem colder than it really was. Thanks to the over-industrialization that past generations started, the sky was always clouded with smog.

Steve stood out on his motorcycle; it was a vehicle that was rarely seen anymore now that everyone had access to high-speed transportation. It was something he had restored as a teenager, back when people actually sold parts for motorcycles.

He hardly rode it anymore out of fear that something would break and he wouldn't be able to fix it ever again. A broken motorcycle was of no use; even if he lived in the North.

Steve had access to part of the fortune his family had made through their business, and had enough to last his whole life, as well as two following generations. Although kids weren’t a good idea unless you could regularly take them to clean areas where they could play. Those didn't exist in the United States anymore.

The streets weren’t crowded at the moment, as it was the afternoon. Most people were at work or in their homes breathing the clean air. Steve’s helmet filtered air as he breathed; it had been custom made years ago, and he wasn't totally sure that it still worked properly. But it protected his head, and he was never out for long anyways.

Steve sped around corners of buildings, swerving around the occasional car. At a red light, he stopped and looked up at the smog-filled sky. There was a spot brighter than the rest; that's where the sun was.

That spot was growing brighter...like the clouds were thinning out. It had been more than a year since the last time Steve had seen a break in the clouds, and been able to look at the sun. The spot grew brighter and it became so bright that Steve could hardly see out of his helmet, even though it was tinted. Steve blinked frantically trying to regain his vision, and opened his eyes, eventually, only to see a completely different scene.

He was standing on a staircase, looking down on his mother, who was arguing with a pair of men.

 “This is our home!” He heard his mother say, clearly angry, “You can’t just kick us out! I’ve never been late on any payment, and we’ve never caused any trouble.”

 “It’s not your home, lady, and it never has been!” the taller man yelled with a clear Brooklyn accent.

 “You can’t pull any technicalities, I’ve been living here for thirty years. It’s my home,” she replied. Steve could see she was trying to keep her temper down, but not very well.

 “I don’t give a shit about your life. It’s up to rent again. For better people. Not immigrant scum like you!”

 “Exactly, go back where you came from,” the other man laughed, with a cigarette in his mouth.

 “Immigrants? I was born and raised in this city. I’ll be damned if I have to leave it now.”

The blinding light was coming back, through a window in the kitchen. The three adults seemed unaffected, but when Steve opened his eyes again, he was back on his motorcycle, speeding towards the side of another moving car. He pushed a break as soon as he realized what was happening, but it was too late. He could feel the impact of the crash, hear the squeaking car wheels, and then everything went black.

 

***

 

The next time Steve opened his eyes, everything was blurry. He couldn’t tell where he was, and he couldn’t hear anything due to a painfully loud ringing in his ears. Steve could tell that the walls of whatever room he was in were white, but then he couldn’t move his head to inspect anything else through the blur. A dark blob appeared over him, and there was a muted buzzing sound under the ringing.

Steve began to panic. He needed to know where he was, how he had gotten here, why he couldn’t hear, why he couldn’t move. At some point, he tried to call out for help, but he wasn’t even sure that his mouth had opened to make a sound.

More blobs appeared around him and one seemed to be shaking. Something was passed over him. Something touched him. Steve blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his vision. He suddenly felt different. He was sleepy. The world was darkening. His hearing cleared for a moment, and he heard someone crying before he fell unconscious.

 

***

 

Suddenly he was awake again. Steve didn't recognize where he was.

 _How did I get here?_ He thought, slowly looking around for something that he would identify.

He was standing outside of an old home in a neighborhood that was probably just outside of the city.

Steve needed help; he needed to know what happened. He needed to tell someone that he was lost, he needed help, he needed to know where he was. But there were no people around. Why did he feel cold?

The door of the small house opened and a man looked out at him. He frowned as though he recognized Steve, even though they had never met.

Steve was beginning to panic, but he said nothing. He just stood on the porch of the house and stared at the man in the doorway.

The man seemed like he was going to speak, but he said nothing.

It was like before, when his vision had been blurry; Steve couldn’t move or speak, no matter how hard he tried.

The man turned slowly and closed the door.

_What was he doing?_

He didn't look like he wanted to leave, he seemed curious about Steve. So why was he leaving?

Steve blinked frantically. All he wanted to do was to be able to move.

Everything seemed to be getting smaller, like the distance between Steve and the world was growing. The house was far away, and Steve felt small and alone.

Everything went black again.

 

***

 

_The world has turned into a one giant dusty pile of shit._

Bucky was laying in his bed, his sweaty skin sticking to the dirty sheets. He spread the metal shutter on the window with two fingers. It was light outside. The sky was colored with a tone of stain; Bucky felt as if he'd been trapped in a steel box, for way too long now.

_He liked his own world better._

It was hard to breathe. Not only because of his increasing anxiety, that was making him freak out with any slight contact with the outer world - the air was polluted and every breath tasted like sulfur. He'd forgotten to close the window before going to bed, and a fresh line of dust has settled on his mattress and himself as well.

It was December and the temperature was reaching seventy degrees. He remembered one Christmas when there had been snow. _Over twenty years ago?_ He counted in mind.

His mom had bought him a new baseball glove that he’d been wanting and needing for too long. And he’d never even dared to actually expect it that morning, as his mother had already worked hard enough just to buy them food. And he’d been so, so grateful, and so happy that very morning.

_Mornings nowadays weren’t so great anymore._

He heard a loud noise from the flat above. Morning routine argument of his lovely neighbors. If he'd told them to shut up, they'd have most likely called the cops on him. Again. Next police revision could not go so well as the last one. He could lose the money, the drugs, his life at last.

 _Too much risk,_ he thought carefully. His neighbors thought he was crazy anyway.

He got up lazily and opened a buzzing fridge only to find nothing inside. _Great._ Now he had to actually go outside.

He swept the dust from the floor and his bed underneath the window. Meanwhile three plates broke in the flat above. He'd tried not to listen to the argument, but the words were vivid in his head, drilling against his will. He actually feared the woman would get hurt. He'd once seen her entering the building, her eye bruised and bottom lip broken.

 _No,_ he couldn't help her. He had to think about himself. They all had to think about themselves now. Nothing else was left.

His heart rate was increasing, his breathing shallow. He quickly wore some dirty clothes picked up from the floor, flung his backpack up his right shoulder and ran out of his flat, breathing heavily. He was losing control. His panic attacks were unexpectable, reaching him when he least expected them.

Waiting in a long line to buy some food in the full sun was exasperating. Once in awhile one would go as far as arguing with the shopkeeper about the high prices of food, and the very lack of choice to a product. _Were these people born yesterday?_ Bucky was thinking, rubbing his stump nervously. He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible.

A jet plane flew over their heads, cutting the sky with white cloud, the speed echoing in their ears.

Bucky breathed out and closed his eyes.

He bought three pieces of cornbread, four cups of beans and rice each, a sack of potatoes, five cans of fruit, and five cans of some wannabe fish; enough food to live for two weeks. He shoved it in his backpack, then checked what he’d actually taken with him on the rush. Two black packages. He must’ve put them there before, he was supposed to go somewhere apparently.

He noticed one robotic cop staring at him from the corner of the street. He zipped his pack back, looked down and kept walking. His backpack was lowering on his left shoulder, making him stiff like a piece of wood. The sweat was dripping from his forehead. _No_ , the cop couldn't just stop him like that. He didn't look suspicious. He _couldn't_ look suspicious. If it'd stopped him, it'd have searched him and found the drugs, then arrest or kill on the spot.

Luckily three men - about ten feet away from him - got into a fight. Pedestrians started running away in awe as one of them pulled out a knife and stabbed the other, his blood was dripping onto the earth from a torn stomach. Robocops twisted their arms back, a scream filled the air and all men were now laying on the ground, biting the dirt.

_A daily view._

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his hoodie. He pulled it out. _Sam._

 “Where the hell are you?” his voice was vexed.

 _Shit._ He forgot.

 “On my way,” Bucky tried to make himself sound as calm as possible.

 “Don't bullshit me, Barnes. I track you. You're next to your block.” Sam sighed deeply and Bucky heard a crack in his phone. “Just be here quickly.”

 “Told you I’m on my way,” Bucky smirked to his phone. Annoying Wilson was one of few things he still enjoyed.

They met in some abandoned warehouse in Downtown West, quite near Bucky's tenement. He could get there by feet easily - he hated cars and public transportation.

Bucky got to the second floor and entered a large office room, it was basically empty, had been robbed from all the leftovers already. Sam stood in the back, looking through the large loft window. When he heard Bucky, he turned back.

“Jeez, Barnes.” Sam approached him. “What'd you do last night? You got to be here an hour ago,” He patted the back of Bucky's neck, who just rolled his eyes. Sam carried on. “You got my stuff?”

Bucky shoved his backpack into Sam's hands. He'll find it quicker with both of his arms. Sam got off two square packages wrapped in black duct tape and hid them inside his jacket. He looked around and pulled out a yellow bottle and two other little plastic bags with pills, then put them inside Bucky’s backpack.

“You gotta sell more than half of this. Last time I had to lower the price,” Sam’s voice turned into a whisper. “I don't care if that means you'll be starving.” He was emphatic but not harsh.

 “Yeah. Right,” Bucky nodded, looking Sam in the eyes.

“By the way.” Sam wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and began walking. “I've got a deal for you.” He smiled slightly. “Clint and his pals are going north. They've got fake IDs. They wanna make this huge deal with Loki and -”

 “You're going with ‘em?” He frowned. _North_ was the only word Bucky could concentrate on. Nobody's going north. Not from here. Not with planning on coming back.

 “Nah, man. ‘Course not. I'm not crazy,” Sam shook his head, clearly annoyed Bucky cut him off mid sentence.

 “Then why do you want _me_ to go?” He was speaking slowly, feeling uneasy at instance.

“Look, I've got to stay for my Ma. Pay for her meds. I can't just leave her like that. And _you_ , you don't have anything to leave behind.” Sam shrugged. “I could give you more grams, you'd buy yourself a fake ID for that money. And they'd pay you a lot, you could buy yourself some fancy robotic arm, buddy,” Sam chuckled and nudged Bucky in his stump, who sighed deeply, grinning at the same time.

 “What? You don't want to tell me you wanna stay here forever?” Sam held his eyes.

 “Most do,” he added cooly.

 “You're not most.”

Bucky frowned at Sam, then wandered through the ground with his eyes, pursing his lips.

“I don't want you to have this life, you know,” added Sam, his voice quiet and doubtful. “This ain't living. But if you got to the North, you could have an actual life. Wouldn't have to sell drugs on the street and eat beans five times a day.”

“Sam… I'm good,” nodded Bucky, his eyelids suddenly heavy. “I'm good where I am.”

And Sam looked really burned up hearing his response. His nostrils were moving with each breath, as if he were trying to mask his irritation, steady his pulse. “Right,” he said at last. He knew if Bucky made his mind already, he wouldn't change it so easily.

“You can come to my place if you want,” said Bucky after a moment of comfortless silence. He was chewing the inside of his cheek. Talking about life here certainly didn't make him any calmer. “We could get high or something.”

 “You know I'm staying clean,” Sam raised his eyebrow.

Bucky smirked, sighing. “Right. Like we all are.”

“No, really. I'm done with it. The less I take the more money there is for my Ma’s meds.” He ran his hand against his short black hair. “You could get high alone, though. I'd do my stuff, count money, put some drugs on the Dark Web.”

 “Yeah, alright,” Bucky nodded and they headed to the exit of the building.

They were now in Bucky’s dusty apartment, Sam sitting on the couch with a laptop on top of his thighs, and Bucky laying in his bed, covering himself with dirty gray sheets.

 “Can I tell you something?” asked Bucky casually.

 “Sure, man.” Sam didn't even lift his sight from the screen.

“I was dreaming about this guy,” said Bucky, with a strange sensation in his voice. Like he wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to say. “It felt so real. _He_ felt real. Like I've known him.” It made Sam move his eyes onto him.

 “Yeah? How many pills of Alprazolam do you take before sleep?” he said with sarcasm, his voice weary.

 “Sam, I'm serious,” sighed Bucky. He turned to his side.

 “Dude, if you're telling me you're meeting people inside your dreams you should lower the dose.”

 “I'm not saying he's real. ‘Course he's not. It's a dream. I ain't crazy.” Bucky rolled his eyes like Sam could see it. “It’s just strange. You ever felt like this?”

 “Nope. Never been much of a junkie,” he chuckled.

Bucky let out a deep sigh and got up to pick up his backpack. He placed it on the counter, then put food in the fridge and took the pills out with his hand, shoving it into his pocket the next second. He threw his backpack into the corner of the room.

 “Thought you meant _actually_ getting high, not going to sleep,” said Sam. He lay on the couch with the laptop.

 “If you're not getting high with me, then what am I supposed to be doing here alone?” Bucky got out two pink pills of morphine; enough to knock him out.

 “At least I can look after you. Make sure that you're gonna wake up again.”

 “Thanks,” to his surprise Bucky smiled uncontrollably. He swallowed the pills with some water from the tap and came back to his bed.

 “So… who's the guy from your dream?” Sam tried to sound as heedless as he could manage to be, with his eyes stuck to the screen.

 “I dunno, man. He's pretty, though,” Bucky chuckled, and Sam shook his head with a smirk.

 “Getting any action?”

 “Nah,” he groaned. “It was just an ordinary dream. I was at my mom’s. In our old house. And this guy just came to us, I opened the door and I felt as though I'd been waiting for him.”

 “Lucid dream?”

 “Yeah. But I couldn't control _him_ , you know,” Bucky's voice was hesitant.

 Sam was typing on his laptop, comparing the data on it to the one on his phone. “Why did he come to you?” he asked after a minute.

 “I don't know. He was scared, I remember. Erratic. I knew he needed my help. But I woke up before I could even help him.” His voice was quiet, he felt dizzy. “After waking up, I felt this weird sensation, like I let him down. What if he needed me, Sam? Maybe he was… traveling from another universe… and just entered my dream, ‘cause he needed my help. I gotta find him,’’ Bucky was fighting against his sleepiness, his eyelids closing themselves.

 “Okay, buddy. First of all - that’s deep as fuck. Second - you’d better go to sleep now,” Sam was laughing, coughing at the dust filled air.

 “G’night, Sam,” mumbled Bucky, pressing his face to the pillow. It was just midday.

 “Goodnight, pal. Tell me how the meeting with your guy goes,” he murmured, more to himself than Bucky. He knew he couldn’t hear Sam now.

 

***

 

Bucky could smell the dinner from the doorway. His mom was cooking chicken soup for Christmas, adding celery and chopped carrots. The smell was savory; he could remember it so well.

 “Hey, mom,” Bucky greeted her as soon as he entered the kitchen.

 She smiled and the room was suddenly so bright and Bucky felt at ease.

He pulled out the most expensive napkins and the brightest silver cutlery they could afford, setting them around the table, then sat down. He was looking at his mother, at her long dark hair and weary hands.

He could never recreate the whole of her. She's always been missing something, the smallest of details Bucky hadn't remembered before it was too late. But her hair stood out; he'd liked to play with it when he was a kid, as well as her slim fingers that wore his grandmother's best ring.

They weren't expecting anybody. They hardly had any friends, not to mention family. But they loved each other and their own company was all they needed.

And suddenly he felt as though something was out of place, something he couldn't control, and his legs took him outside. He was following something that was calling him.

On the porch of the house stood the same man that he had seen the other day, looking less frantic, but still very lost.

 “Who are you?” Bucky asked, still unable to place why the man was appearing in his own dreams.

 “I’m Steve,” he replied quickly, his voice shaky.

 “I don't know you. Why are you here?” Bucky frowned. He wanted to close the door and wait for him to just disappear.

 “I don’t know where I am. Can you help me? I don’t even know how I got here.”

 “This is my home-,”

 “I think something bad happened to me,” Steve cut in, he was panicking, his hands shaking. He looked around, trying to recognize the area.

 “Well, I don’t know what happened to you,” Bucky was slowly growing agitated with Steve’s presence in his own dream world.

 “I don’t know where to go. I don’t live around here,” Steve looked nervous, still trembling.

Bucky was looking at him like he'd never seen a man before, as though he was an alien creature. _If he weren't real, then inviting him inside wouldn't cause any trouble,_ thought Bucky.

 “Do you want to come in?” he asked at last, his voice hesitant. And Steve’s face filled with relief.

He nodded, but didn't move a bit. He was still scared, looking down at his feet. He seemed to be waiting for Bucky to step aside, but Bucky just stood still, unsure what to do.

He stopped looking at Steve eventually, turned back and walked inside slowly, and Steve followed him. His steps were quiet and full of caution.

Bucky leaned on the kitchen counter and Steve just stood in the doorframe, about four feet away from him, looking around. Bucky's mother wasn't there anymore; he'd felt he had to hide her from the outer world to keep her safe, even when Steve was just his imagination.

 “What happened to you?” asked Bucky.

 “I'm not totally sure. I saw a blurry white room moments ago, now I'm here I guess,” Steve glanced around the room.

Bucky was unsure what to do with the man who had just appeared at his house. He couldn’t do much harm, right? If he disturbed Bucky’s dream world, Bucky could just erase him, move himself into another imagination. Steve wasn’t real anyway.

 “Are you okay?” Steve asked. Bucky was squinting at him as though something was wrong with Steve.

Bucky didn't respond. After a while he looked up, his mouth wide open. He began noticing how detailed Steve was - something he could’ve never created himself. Not if he accidentally ever passed this man on the street; he couldn’t have remembered him that well. He could not recreate his mother after spending every day of his past life with her, but this man… he felt almost real.

 “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he said eventually.

Steve shrugged, “Okay, whatever you say.”

 “I guess you can stay until you figure it out,” Bucky added quickly.

 “Thank you.” Relief painted on Steve’s face. “What’s your name?” he added.

 “It’s James, but you can call me Bucky.”

Bucky looked back and noticed the pot of soup heating on the stove. It was ready, even though his mom had just begun making it. When he thought about it his mother walked down the stairs, she was carrying a wrapped up present in her arms with a smile on her face.

Steve felt as though he knew her; like he’d seen her before. Maybe a long time ago, but she felt familiar. He greeted her, and when she didn’t bother to notice him, Steve didn’t seem to care at all. He noticed the tree in the corner of the room, though, and puzzled all the elements together, “Is it Christmas?” he asked.

Bucky nodded. “Will you eat dinner with us?” A little smile curled his lips.

Steve agreed, although he was still cautious. He sat with Bucky and Bucky’s mother around the small table in their kitchen. Mrs. Barnes poured each of them a bowl of chicken soup and they began eating. The taste of the soup was barely there; Bucky hadn’t had chicken soup in so long that he couldn’t remember it well.

When Bucky focused on Steve his mother disappeared. He was staring into Steve’s blue eyes - how could he know that man? “Are you real?” The words left his mouth before he could even think about it; his voice was quiet as though he were speaking to himself.

Steve looked confused, “I’m here, am I not?”

“Well, yeah. But this is my dream. And I don’t know you.” The bowls weren’t there anymore, in fact, nor was the table, and both of them were now sitting on a large bed in another room.

 “Dream? No, this isn’t a dream, I’m not asleep.”

 “ _I am_ asleep, this is my dream. You’re in it and you shouldn’t be.”

Steve looked around like the room could help him understand somehow. The wallpaper was old and the corners were peeling. Yellowed furniture stood on a worn wooden floor, window curtains were gray, and light coming through the glass illuminated dust in the air. Steve frowned. This place was old, unlike the houses in the north. He’s never been to the southern part of the country, but he could imagine it would look exactly like that.

 “Where are we?” he asked hesitantly. “Is this the South?”

 “Yes, this is my old house,” Bucky replied, “I lived here with my mother.”

 “Where is she now?“ He felt like he shouldn’t have asked, but he needed to know the answer.

 “She, uh,” Bucky paused for a second, “She’s not there,” he choked on his own words, “Car accident.”

They both fell silent, neither sure what to say. After a moment, a car sped up behind Steve and he turned back in fear. They were now standing on a busy crossroad. Bucky was looking ahead, his eyes emotionless. His long hair was dancing in the wind. “This is where it happened.” Bucky’s voice was quiet, but Steve could still hear him clearly through the traffic.

Steve was staring at him for a longer moment, then it fell on him like a ton of bricks - Bucky remembered the accident, Bucky _was_ in that car. He could feel Bucky’s pain inside him.

 “You were there,” Steve said, even though he already knew it.

 “Yes,” Bucky replied quickly, like he was expecting Steve to say it.

 “You know you don’t have to show me that.” Steve stepped closer to Bucky; he wanted to grab his shoulder, but didn’t think it was a good idea.

Bucky looked up at Steve with his ice blue eyes, “I think if you don’t want to watch this, you can just go away.”

 “No, listen, I don’t want to go, alright? Just… I don’t want you to think you have to show me this for whatever reason. Do _you_ want to watch this?” Steve kept his voice soft, as he was trying not to startle Bucky.

He thought for a moment. “No, I don’t. Not really,” Bucky looked down, “I’ve seen it enough times already.”

They were suddenly back in the old house, in the kitchen. The table was back, as well as the soup and three table settings. The detail was clear, like Bucky was focusing extremely hard on his home. He was trying to stop thinking about the accident, at least for the moment. His mother wasn’t there, though; seeing her would be too painful at the moment.

Steve noticed how devastated Bucky looked now, “How long has it been?”

He counted in his mind, “About six years.”

Steve nodded. He noticed Bucky’s hand was lying on the table, and all of sudden he felt an urge to hold it. He reached out carefully, giving Bucky time to notice, then stroked his palm with his fingers, and when Bucky didn’t resist, he picked it up.

Bucky frowned at him, and wanted to take his hand back. But he didn't - his body went stiff but he felt Steve's warmth and wanted it to stay with him. He felt oddly safe.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little concept art for Bucky's apartment that I've made.  
> https://imgur.com/a/IuHkF1G

Steve woke with a hazy feeling, like he wasn’t really awake. There were lines of light coming into the room from the window, through it’s threadbare curtains. He could see the dust in the air where he could see the light, and it seemed unnaturally peaceful. He turned his head to the side and felt Bucky’s presence before he could even see him. Bucky was sitting in an old chair, staring at Steve, he didn’t lower his gaze when Steve met his eyes.

Steve felt oddly stupid staring at the long haired man in silence, so he turned his body to face Bucky, “How did I get here?” He frowned.

Bucky looked puzzled, he shifted in his chair, “You fell asleep,” his voice was cold. “Must’ve been pretty tired.”

“Weird,” Steve sat up, “I don’t remember ever being in here before just now.”

“Look,” Bucky coughed. “I don’t know what happened to you before, or just now.”

“That makes no sense. I’m here. I’m awake and alive-”

Bucky cut him off, “Awake? No, you couldn’t be in my dream if you’re awake.” He let out a quiet laugh, that almost sounded fake to Steve, “Do you even know where you are?”

“Yeah. In some weird, old, dusty house somewhere in south,” Steve frowned, he felt angry.

“Sure. But why?” Bucky shrugged and leaned in his chair, his face resting on his hand.

“I don’t know. But I’m trying to figure it out, as you might’ve noticed,” his tone was sarcastic and he didn’t even know why. He began feeling uneasy, not knowing anything about his current state. He looked at Bucky, who shifted in his chair again and sighed.

“I won’t tell you why because I have no idea, either,” he admitted. “God, why am I saying this, I don’t even know if you’re real…” he said to himself, quietly.

“If I’m real? Obviously I’m real. I’m right here.”

“No you aren’t. At least not really. We’re both in a dream. _My_ dream, specifically.”

“That’s crazy.” Steve shook his head and got up. “It’s impossible. _You_ are crazy, keep talking in circles like some madman, about this dream.” He made few steps toward the door.

Bucky got up and stood in Steve’s way. He looked in his eyes, noticed how real they actually seemed, how tired his face looked like, how detailed it was. The moment was tense, they stood so close to each other Bucky could feel Steve’s warm breath.

“I’m dreaming,” Bucky said without thinking, and it made Steve frown. “That’s why you shouldn’t be here. Because it’s _my_ dream, and _I_ control it,” his voice was calm and quiet. “If you’re here then you must be dreaming, too.” He figured Steve still didn’t understand any of it, and he stepped back, “My mother - she’s not real,” Bucky curled his lips in something of a shape of a smile, “She’s dead, I made her up. She’s not real. Nothing here is real, because it’s a dream. This house isn’t real - I haven’t been to it for so many years I don’t even know if it’s still there,” his voice broke and Steve looked at him in awe.

“What are you talking about?” Steve shook his head.

“I will wake up some time, and then I’ll go back to sleep and live with my mom, like i always do.” His face looked like he was about to cry.

“Where will you wake up?” Steve sat back on the bed and looked down.

“In my shitty life in the South, I guess,” Bucky laughed and carefully walked to the bed, then sat next to Steve. “And you’ll wake up in some fancy apartment in the North, have your perfect life, with money and family. You won’t have to worry about the war, if you’re gonna survive the next day-”

“Oh my god,” Steve cut Bucky off. He was now staring at the wall, his eyes wide in shock.

Bucky got concerned, he looked closely at Steve and wanted to shake his shoulder, but Steve started stuttering and panicking. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I-I’m not sure I’ll… wake up again…”

“What do you mean? Of course you will. It’s just a dream.”

“Well I wasn’t sleeping...I was riding my motorcycle. That’s the last thing I remember doing,” Steve paused, “What if I crashed?”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and Bucky said nothing; he was completely unsure of what to do. Obviously he could try to comfort Steve, but you don’t really go hugging strangers who randomly show up in your dreams.

“I’m dead,” Steve brought his knees up to his chest, “I’m dead and that’s why I’m here.”

“No, no, no,” Bucky tried to make his voice calming, but the whole situation made him panic as well. “You’re not dead. I promise, you will wake up sooner or later. Focus, what’s the very last thing you remember?”

“Uhh… A car? I hit a car. I’d pressed the breaks.” Steve looked at Bucky like he was expecting him to tell him whether his answer was correct or not.

“Well, okay.” Bucky tried to come up with something reasonable. “That’s good. You minimized the impact, that made your chances of survival higher. Plus - it was a car - not a truck or something worse…”

“Is it possible they put me into a coma?” Steve looked like he was starving for the answer.

“I guess so,” Bucky wanted to sound trustworthy, but in reality he had no idea what could’ve happened to Steve. “Did you wear a helmet, a leather gear?”

“I wore a helmet, but no leather...”

“That’s okay. I mean, your head is the most important here. You probably got some body injuries, though, but don’t worry about this.”

“I guess if I had died...maybe I wouldn’t even be _here_ ,” Steve felt something ease up in his chest.

Bucky nodded, “That makes sense. You can’t process a dream if you’re dead.”

They sat in silence. Steve continued to worry about how much damage he had taken in the crash, and wondered if he would ever wake up again. Next to him, Bucky hoped that Steve wasn’t going to panic about anything else.

 

***

 

Bucky opened his heavy eyelids to a dark room. He heard snoring in distance, and street traffic from the outside the window. Street lights lined the corners on furniture inside, and he could see Sam fell asleep on the couch, his laptop folded on the floor.

A quick realization rushed through his mind, where he’s been for the past few hours, what’s happened. He felt panic filling his guts. What happened to Steve? Where did he go when Bucky left the dream? He couldn’t even tell him he was leaving and Steve probably freaked out.

He got up from the bed and his head spun. He rushed to the kitchen, he didn’t remember where he left his drugs and he tried to find them on the counter, knocking over some things with his hand. When he didn’t find them, he went to his bed and picked up a hoodie from the floor. He searched the pockets and found the bottle. As he was trying to open the lid with one shaky hand, it fell on the ground and Bucky tried to pick it up. Then he dropped the whole bottle and all the pills spilled over the floor.

He kneeled in a rush, making even more noise that woke Sam up. And he didn’t even bother to look up, but then Sam rushed to drop on the floor next to Bucky and caught his hand right while it was picking the pills.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sam yelled in distress. He made Bucky drop what he picked up right back on the floor.

“Sam, it’s fine,” Bucky looked him in the eyes, his voice shaky, “I just need to go back to sleep right away.”

“Oh hell no. I won’t let you take more,” he begun picking the pills and putting them back into the bottle. “You know you never know when to stop,” his voice was cold and firm.

“Please, Sam. I _need_ to go back to sleep. You don’t understand!”

“No way. If you don’t stop I’m gonna throw them out the window,” Sam stood up and looked down at Bucky. He was obviously still high from taking the pills, even though he wasn’t asleep anymore, “You’re gonna overdose if you take any more.” Bucky knew Sam was lying but deep down, he appreciated that his friend cared so much about him.

“I just need to sleep a little bit longer, Sam! I left him there and he’s just been in a car crash...I need to make sure he’s alright.”

“It was a dream Bucky, remember? You took the pills to have the dream again, but it isn’t real.”

“He’s real…”

Sam was done with Bucky’s pitiful act; he pulled Bucky to his feet, “You need to eat something. And drink some water. Work this all out of your system. Then tomorrow you’ll be okay to take more of the pills.”

Bucky made a half-hearted attempt to take the pills back from Sam, but Sam was watching and swung his arm up out of reach. Resigned to his fate, Bucky stood to turn on the faucet for water. To be sure that clean water would come out, the tap had to run for at least a minute before getting any to drink. While Bucky stood by the sink, Sam took out a can of fruit for them to share and opened it.

“Hey we got lucky, this one has peaches,” he told Bucky.

This helped the sad figure to perk up a bit. He wasn’t about to forget his worries of Steve, stuck in his dream, but finding canned peaches was definitely going to be his one good memory of the week.

 

It was 6am and the sun was peeking through the high buildings. Bucky was sitting at the small round table next to Sam, who was dividing white powder into smaller portions, then packing them into little plastic bags and weighing on the scales.

“So um… what’s up with your dream guy?” Sam asked casually.

Bucky had no idea what to say. “He’s lost, I guess.”

“Why?” Sam just finished filling another plastic bag.

“He had a car accident.” Bucky’s voice was cold, he sounded like he wasn’t even there at all.

“Damn…” Sam sighed and put another spoon of powder out.

Bucky peeked at him, furrowing. “He’s real, Sam,” his voice was harsh all of a sudden, “He’s in trouble and he needs help.”

“Okay. Cool,” Sam didn’t sound convinced though, “Doesn’t mean I’ll give you back the pills.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and got up abruptly, “I don’t need these goddamned pills to sleep,” he murmured to himself and poured a glass of water to drink. He took a standing fan and placed it next to his bed, the way it doesn’t cool his body too much, but makes the white noise and the air easier to breathe. He shut the window blinds and threw himself on the bed, filling the air with dust.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes, he felt himself being even less tired than he was before, twenty minutes, thirty. He got up. His stomach growled. _Fuck_. He went to the kitchen and took a cup of rice out of a bag, then boiled it on a stove. He didn’t even bother to put it into a plate, he just ate it straight out of the pan. Then he threw himself back on the bed.

He was thinking about Steve, about his detailed face and the worry in his blue eyes. He couldn’t help but imagine the crash Steve endured - he knew exactly what it felt like. He was imagining Steve in a hospital bed, covered in white, his family surrounding him. What was his family like? Were they loving, compassionate? Did they even know about the accident?

Another thirty minutes passed and Bucky was just laying in his bed like a piece of wood, sleep not taking mercy on him. He wanted to punch himself for keeping on thinking about the stressing stuff instead of something calming. But he just couldn’t stop. He needed to fall asleep quickly and that thought was keeping him awake.

An hour passed and Bucky could finally feel himself dozing off. It felt so good to just let go of his conscious and drown in the images his brain was already creating, colorful splashes of emotions. And not so long after his muscles weakened completely and he almost smiled internally at the thought of sleep.

 

***

 

He was walking down the stairs, into the kitchen, searching the house to find Steve. He wasn’t there. The house was empty. Bucky’s stomach filled with anxiety. He gave himself the benefit of a doubt, but it quickly changed into thoughts spiraling inside his head. What if Steve was gone? What if he died? What if Bucky left him to die? What if Steve wasn’t even real to begin with?

He sat on the floor and tears filled his eyes. He felt a panic attack coming to him. “Oh no, no, no,” he murmured to himself, clenching his fists on his hair. He closed his eyes really hard and tried to make it go away, even though he knew it didn’t work that way. He startled when he felt warm hands touching his shoulders, getting up and turning around to face… Steve.

“Where have you been?” Steve asked, his voice worried. Bucky could see the skin under his eyes was shiny, and his eyelids a bit swollen.

“I woke up.” Bucky found himself subconsciously stepping away from Steve. He stood still.

“I thought you’d never come back…” Steve said, in a small voice, looking away.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them for a moment, then Bucky decided to step closer.

“I’ll always come back,” said Bucky quietly. “You just have to wait for me, alright?”

Steve looked at him trustfully, “Alright.”

 

***

 

They were sitting on the bed next to each other. Bucky leaned over on the headboard, Steve cross legged on top of the sheets.

“What’s it like? In the south?” Steve asked.

“Hard.” Bucky laughed dryly. “It’s really different from the north. I used to live there with my mom. That was before I…” he cut off and rubbed his left elbow, “lost my arm,” he added quietly. Steve looked puzzled.

“I don’t have an arm,” Bucky faked a smile. “It ends right where the elbow should be. It’s there in my dreams, though. It feels like it’s still there and I can feel it… but it’s not.”

Steve put the two and two together. _Bucky must’ve lost his arm in the accident_ , he thought. The thought weighted on him. Not only did Bucky lose his mother but also a part of himself. He wondered if his own comatosed body was still in one piece.

“The air is awful,” Bucky continued. “I probably got some lung disease from it and I might not even know,” he laughed.

Steve smiled. “Why did you leave the north?”

“My mother and I were kicked out. She never told me why, but I guess it was just because we were poor and couldn’t afford to stay up north.”

Steve suddenly remembered the dream he had of being evicted from his home and… seeing a young brown haired boy carrying a suitcase behind him right in front of his car. He looked at Bucky in slight shock. Bucky looked back, not sure what just happened.

“Your mother was arguing with the landlord. You were carrying a suitcase and she yelled at a car,” Steve said quickly.

Bucky frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I saw you. I was in that car. I was in your dream, I saw her arguing with two men when they kicked you out,” Steve was smiling in disbelief.

Bucky didn’t know what to make of it. He was staring at Steve, unsure what to say.

“I think I know why I’m here,” Steve said, unsure of his own words. “I’ve been there before. In your dreams. With you. We’re connected… somehow.”

“Why?” it was all Bucky could get out of his throat.

“I don’t know,” Steve’s voice was barely there, “I guess the universe just… drawn us together.”

Bucky was staring at this man, at this strange man that was not supposed to be here. Yet, he was. And he was very real and very close to Bucky. And Bucky couldn’t help but pick Steve’s hand with his own and tie their fingers together, inspecting his palm like all the answers were written in there. It was warm and soft and Bucky was so desperate for that warmth.

Steve smiled at him and leaned forward, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and pulling him into an embrace. Their hands still tied in between their chests, Steve could feel Bucky’s heartbeat in his palm. Bucky clutched his fingers at the fabric of Steve’s shirt and buried his face in the crook of his neck. He felt familiar, he felt like home.

“You’re my soulmate,” Steve whispered. “We’re soulmates.” He said it like it all made sense now.

“I guess we are,” Bucky laughed, his voice muzzled by Steve’s shirt. If he had tears in his eyes, Steve couldn’t see them.

 

***

 

Bucky woke up when the sun was disappearing behind the horizon. The sky was orange and yellow, and strangely, Bucky thought it was beautiful. He got up and took a look around the flat. Sam had left.

He made oatmeal on his small two-burner stove, just water and oats. It had little to no taste at all but Bucky didn’t care, he was used to cardboard tasting food. He poured himself some water into a glass and sat on his bed, staring through the window. The streets weren’t less busy than before, now there were lights everywhere and all the filth was hidden in the dark. It almost looked pretty that way.

He thought about Steve. What did his window view look like? Did the north change much in those years when Bucky wasn’t there? He felt warmth inside his belly. He smiled at it awkwardly. Did Steve make him feel this way? Was he still high?

He was thinking whether Steve would ever come to south, would they ever meet in real life. He was missing him already. Bucky got up and found the bottle with pills he and Sam had fought about in the morning. He took one and lay down, waiting to be with Steve again.

 

***

 

“Can you manipulate the dream to take us somewhere else?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I don’t know any other nice places, though. South’s pretty ugly,” Bucky chuckled.

“Maybe I could take us somewhere?”

“Alright, let’s try,” he smiled.

Steve thought about his roof garden, the fruit trees and traffic noise below. And, to his surprise, he found himself there in an instance. Bucky was carefully touching the trees with his fingers, his eyes focused.

“It’s been a while since I saw real trees,” said Bucky, frowning at the sun. It was setting now, giving the sky a pink-red hue. He pointed at it with a smile, “It’s kinda romantic.”

Steve grinned. He was sitting on a concrete block and invited Bucky to come over.

“That’s where I live,” said Steve.

Bucky gasped. “Are you kidding me? In this building?”

“Yeah. My family owns it,” Steve spoke softly. “It’s my garden, nobody really comes here beside me and Nat.”

“Nat?” Bucky sat down next to Steve.

“Natasha, my sister,” Steve made a sad smile. He wondered how Nat’s been doing since his accident.

“What’s she like?”

“Stubborn,” he laughed. “She’s training women in self defense, kind of a martial artist. She could kick my ass.”

Bucky chuckled. “I don’t really have a family except for my friend Sam. He watches my back, keeps me alive. He’s been my friend since day one in south.”

“That’s good to hear, Buck.” Steve leaned his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky went stiff for a moment, from the sudden touch, but he relaxed in a second. “Don’t you think it’s weird how we’re so different from each other, yet we were made to be together?” His voice was quiet.

“How are we so different?”

“Y’know… You’re… normal,” he didn’t know how to put his thoughts in words. “I’m not really… normal. I’m ill. My mind is ill. I’m not fine, most of the time. And when I am I’m either high or high _and_ asleep.”

Steve turned his head to him and looked him in the eyes. “We’re not really different in this one, pal.” He made a sad smile.

Bucky got up and took Steve’s hand to lie down on the ground together. Suddenly a blanket appeared underneath them.

“Did you think I wouldn’t want you because you’re mentally ill?” said Steve, he was laying on his side, looking at Bucky.

“I’m not really much more beside that either,” he shrugged.

“Of course you are. You are a person. I know it’s hard to look at yourself without hatred sometimes but, trust me, you are much more than that.” Steve gently stroked Bucky’s cheek to make his face turn toward his own.

Bucky’s eyes were red. He looked up to stop the tears from coming. “I’m so glad I found you.”

Steve smiled. “So am I.” His voice was soft.

Bucky leaned closer to Steve, he closed his eyes but right before their lips could touch he felt a gentle push on his chest. He looked at Steve, his face was visibly worried.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky pulled back in embarrassment.

“No, it’s fine,” Steve insisted, “I just… I think you should know before we…” He was looking in between Bucky and himself. “I’m trans, Buck.”

Bucky looked puzzled for a second then let out a quiet laugh. “So?” He raised his eyebrow. “I don’t care what’s in between your legs, Steve.”

Now it was Steve who looked embarrassed, but he still laughed. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Bucky was already staring at Steve’s lips and he gently grabbed Steve’s face into his palms, and leaned in to kiss him. This time Steve kissed back, slowly but firmly, his hands wandering here and there, him not knowing where to place them. He grabbed the back of Bucky’s shirt as they moved in to hug each other.

Bucky was grinning and even he knew it didn’t happen often. He wanted to stay there forever, in Steve’s arms. He felt like that was where he belonged. Not in the north, not on that rooftop, but in Steve’s arms.

And Steve was looking at the sunset, holding the dearest thing he had right now, in his comatosed mind. He held Bucky like it was the most precious thing in the world, more valuable than coal and oxygen in a civil war torn America.

  
They were now looking at the sun setting behind the horizon, Steve holding Bucky’s left hand in his palms. They were waiting until Bucky woke up, spending the last time they had together, not knowing when it will end.

“Is it that beautiful in the real world, too?” Bucky’s voice was quiet and raspy.

Steve smiled, “I remember it being this way.”

“Steve?” Bucky’s tone was serious. Steve looked at him. “Will you find me? In the south?” he asked.

Steve’s eyes filled with worry. “Do you want me to find you?”

“I do. You need to come for me, there’s no way they’ll let me cross the border on my own.” He was looking at the ground.

“Okay. I will find you,” his voice was firm.

“Thank you,” Bucky looked him deep in the eyes.

“If you told me the address, do you think I would remember after waking up?” Steve asked.

“Well. There’s only one way to find out,” he let out a sigh. “I live in Washington D.C.,” he smirked.

“That’s close to the border,” Steve noticed.

“Yeah. Uh, there’s a bridge going over the Potomac. People stacked all those shipping containers on top of it, it's not used as a bridge anymore, so we live there.”

Steve was trying to engrave every word into his brain, he had to remember. “You live in the containers?” he asked.

Bucky let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, nothing fancy.”

“How do you… stay alive? Do you have a job?” Steve’s voice was worried.

Bucky looked at the ground again and let out a deep sigh. “I deal drugs. Can’t really get a legal job with no arm.”

“Are you safe out there?” Steve had a deep frown on his face.

Bucky’s voice was barely there, “Of course not…”

Steve looked at Bucky’s troubled face and felt his pain in his own body. He put his hand on Bucky’s back and pulled him into a hug. Bucky grabbed him tightly and just hid in Steve’s arms.

“I want to make you feel safe,” Steve’s voice was a whisper. “I know it’s hard for safety nowadays, but I will do everything I can to make you feel safe.”

Bucky pulled away from him to look at Steve’s face. There was a faint smile on his lips and teardrops were filling his eyes. He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Bucky figured, that Steve could still feel his gratitude anyway. He hugged him again and smiled into his shirt.

 

***

 

Steve was laying in the hospital bed, white sheets covering his lower body. His face was bruised and there were a few deeper lacerations on his chin and right cheek. His right forearm was casted in plaster, his hands were bruised.

Natasha was sitting by his bed, watching him. He looked as though he was asleep. He was, in a way. She could see his eyes moving underneath the eyelids. She wondered if he was dreaming. She had spoken with the doctor before, he told her Steve had broken two ribs, the right forearm and had a concussion. When she first found out that he had an accident, she cried, even though Steve was in surprisingly good condition.

She got up and kissed his forehead. “Gotta go to work, little brother.” She was smiling on her way out, remembering how she liked to tease him about being older, though only by a few months.

Her father had told her that at first they hadn’t known when she was exactly born. When she was twelve some missing files in the orphanage were found, and once it was settled that she was older than Steve, the teasing game begun.

Her phone suddenly rang in the pocket of her jacket. It was their father Howard.

 _"How’s Steve doing?_ ” he asked.

“The doc said they’ll wake him up this week,” she said excitedly.

“ _That’s good, Natasha. Listen… I’m busy right now, so I’m going to go.”_

“Wait,” she said, “will you be there when he wakes up?”

 " _I don’t know, hon. I gotta stay in Germany for another week,”_ his voice was quiet.

“Yeah… Goodbye, dad,” she said coldly.

 _"Bye, Natasha_.” He hung up.

 

***

 

Bucky was laying in a fetal position on his bed, dust settled on top of him and the bed sheets. He was crying quietly, squeezing a pillow, wiping his face with it. He didn’t know where the sadness came from. He didn’t know what was wrong, he only knew he felt fear.

He was afraid of leaving this place. He was afraid of starting a new life. He was afraid Steve wouldn’t love him in real life. Did he even belong in the north? How would he even cross the border without the robocops shooting him right in the head? He didn’t have education, wasn’t able to work physically either. Did Steve just want Bucky to live off of his money?

He suddenly felt a wave of nausea coming onto him. He got up and ran to the bathroom, then retched in the toilet. His hair was in his mouth and everything was gross and Bucky felt like the most disgusting piece of nothing on this planet. He washed his face in the sink and slipped onto the floor, leaning over the wall.

There was a knocking on the door and his eyes snapped open. Next he heard footsteps and Sam calling his name, looking for him in the room. Bucky hated himself even more now.

When Sam spotted him on the bathroom floor he dropped on his knees.

 “Bucky, what’s wrong?!” he shouted in fear.

 “I’m okay, Sam,” Bucky tried to muster a smile.

 “What did you take?” Sam was reaching for his shoulders.

 “Nothing, Sam. I’m fine. It’s just anxiety.” He tried to push Sam away from himself.

 “Please, be telling the truth,” he sighed.

 “I am telling the truth. I swear.”

Sam let go of his grip and looked him deep in the eyes. “What’s wrong?” his voice sounded sad.

 “I’m... I don’t know.” Tears came to his eyes uncontrollably, he hated himself for it. “I’m scared.”

 “Of what? Did someone threaten you?”

 “No, Sam. I just am. Do we have to talk about this?” he sighed.

 “Not if you don’t want to,” Sam looked at the ground. “Look, I want to help you, because I don’t want you to feel this way.”

Bucky looked at him for a longer moment. “Thanks,” was all he knew to respond.

Sam just took a deep breath. “Take a shower,” he said and left the bathroom.

Bucky felt awful. He hated the fact that Sam had to see him in this state. He felt so much self hatred.

He got up and threw all his clothes off onto the floor and stepped in the shower. The water was cold, but it felt good. He didn't take a shower in a while, he almost forgot how nice it felt.

  
When Bucky got out Sam gave him a cold look, but he could still see that Sam was worried.

 “How are you feeling?” Sam asked.

Bucky thought about it. He felt numb. He didn’t feel anything. “Better, thanks,” he said at last. He didn’t care whether Sam could spot the lie or not.

 “So what was that about?” He glanced at the bathroom door.

Bucky felt a load of embarrassment fall onto him. “It’s about Steve.” He was afraid to say it, but once he did, the weight on his shoulders was easing up.

 “Who’s Steve?” Sam was confused.

 “The guy from the dream…” Bucky looked at the floor. “I’m scared for him.”

Sam looked upset all of a sudden. “Bucky? You know he’s not real, right?”

 “No, you don’t underst-,”

Sam cut him off, “He’s just your imagination, he’s not real.”

 “Sam, just listen to me,” Bucky raised his voice. “I know he’s real. We’re… connected, somehow. He’s a real person, he’s asleep and we connect when I’m asleep, too.”

 “You know how it sounds…” Sam sighed.

 “I’m not crazy.” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

 “What do you want me to say?”

 “You don’t have to say anything, you just have to listen, alright? I’m scared because… he’s in a coma, probably. And I don’t know if he’ll wake up. And I need to find him somehow, you have to help me find him,” Bucky’s voice turned into a cry.

 “Alright,” he said quietly. “Tell me all his information and I’ll look him up.”

 “We could reach out to his sister. Natasha. She’ll know what happened to him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to create a dream world, that would be close to reality in the way, where we're willing to accept everything that happens to us, no matter how ridiculous it is. You may be perfectly fine with all the bizarre things happening in your dream, and they can make sense to you, mimicking your life. But as soon as you wake up and look back at it, you realize how unnatural and fake it was. Yet, when you're asleep, you don't ever question it, it's everything you know and it's your reality.  
> The stories in your dreams may seem to be going on for way longer than you're being asleep for; distorting your reality in every way.  
> How do you know you're not asleep right now?


	3. Chapter 3

He opened his eyes. His eyelids were stuck together, like he’d slept for too long.  _ Way too long.  _ His chest hurt when he took a deep breath, it was like his body has begun turning into stone. He let out a small cough, but it shook him whole. He heard a faint sound.

_ Beep beep beep. _

It sounded familiar. He opened his eyes wider, his pupils were unnaturally big. He heard footsteps and saw a young woman entering the room in the corner of his eye. She seemed more like a blue blob than a person.

“Welcome back to the living world, Mr. Rogers,” she spoke softly with a grin on her face.

“Hi,” he said quietly, after a while. His voice sounded confused. He was looking at her, trying to puzzle the whole situation together.

“Do you know where you are, sir?” she asked.

When he didn’t answer she took it as a  _ no _ and continued, “You’re in a hospital. You were in a brief coma but now you’re awake.” She smiled.

Steve nodded. He looked up at the white ceiling and let out a deep sigh. His head was heavy, he could see his view spinning, even after he closed his eyes.

“I called your sister, she’s already on her way,” her voice was soft but prominent.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

She smiled wide. “How are you feeling, Steve? Can I call you Steve?”

“Sure,” he smiled at her, “I’m… fine, I guess.” He was looking at the nurse and thought she was probably the same age as him.

“I’m glad. When your sister arrives, you’ll speak to the doctor and he’ll explain everything to you, alright, Steve?”

“Yeah.” Oddly, Steve felt like he just wanted to fall back asleep.

 

When Natasha stepped into the room she was holding her hand over her mouth, smiling over the tears. She sat and the edge of her brother’s hospital bed and picked his hand in her palm. Her hand was sweaty but Steve didn’t mind at all, it was nice to feel human touch again.

“Hi, little brother,” she said laughing.

Steve wanted to nodge her but he just felt warmth and happiness. “Hi, big sister,” he said.

 

_ *** _

 

Steve walked out of the hospital on his own two legs, which he was very glad about. He tried not to think about the overwhelming feeling in his gut that was telling him, _ you could’ve been dead now _ , and thought about being alive for a change.

The air he was breathing made him cough, and he felt a burning sensation in his lungs each time. He got unused to the outside world, the  _ real  _ world. In his dreams the air was always fresh.

When he was in the passenger seat of Nat’s car, his anxiety was rising to the surface. He couldn’t stop thinking about almost dying.

When he was in their home, he was met by a full blown panic attack. Nat sat next to him on the couch, reminding him to breathe, reminding him that he was alive now, that he was safe. Steve wept quietly into her sweater, trying to catch a breath, counting to ten and backwards in his head.

When he walked up to the roof garden of his home, he was alone.

He suddenly remembered how many times he wanted to stand on the edge and jump. He remembered how once he stood on that very edge, numb, considering his death. It was at night and nobody could stop him but himself. And he did. He did stop himself and now he was alive.

He had a reason to stay alive now. He had Bucky. He had Natasha.

The fruit trees had brown, orange and red leaves laying at their roots, and there were no fruits hanging from the branches. Steve thought Nat must’ve picked them off while he was away. The sky was slowly turning black, orange hue slipping through the gray clouds.

He sat by the desk in his bedroom and turned on the computer. He opened Google Maps, typed in Washington D.C. and headed to the Potomac river. He was looking for a bridge. He remembered a bridge. He knew it had something to do with Bucky. He opened pictures of all the bridges on the river. Only one of them had stacked shipping containers. It was the Chains Bridge. That was it. That was Bucky.

 

_ *** _

 

Natasha refused to pick up her phone, she was in her bed and the caller’s location was in South. Who the hell was calling her from the South? And who the hell calls anyone at 2 AM?

Then the phone rang again, then again. She picked it up with annoyance.

“Hello?” She tried to sound as repulsive as possible.

The phone made a few cracking sounds and a distorted voice spoke up, after a few seconds it became clear. “ _ Is this Natasha Romanoff? _ ” a male voice said.

“Yes? Who am I talking to?” she was confused.

There was a short stop, then, “ _ I am Steve’s friend… My name is James. You are his sister, right? _ ”

“I am,” she said shortly.

“ _ Is he… okay? _ ” his voice was quiet.

“You tried calling his phone? He’s probably busy if not answering.”

“ _ No, I don’t have his number, _ ” the voice seemed puzzled. “ _ So he’s okay? _ ”

“Yeah, man. He’s just got out of the hospital. Listen, maybe I’ll just give him the phone? I’m pretty busy right now, y’know.  _ Trying to sleep _ .”

The voice on the other end stopped and Natasha heard a few quiet, muffled noises. “ _ That would be great, thank you. _ ” To Natasha’s even bigger surprise the man seemed to be crying.

She rushed to Steve’s bedroom, knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for invitation. Steve was still sitting by his desk, like the night owl he was. “Someone for you. From the South, I guess?” she said with a sleepy but visibly annoyed voice.

Steve’s eyes turned wide and, to Natasha, it looked almost concerning. He got up so quickly from his chair he almost knocked it over. Natasha was completely done with this now.

He picked the phone like it was the most priceless object he’s seen in his lifetime, then hesitated for a split second before he put it to his ear and said, “It’s Steve.”

Natasha left the room while rolling her eyes behind Steve’s back.

“ _ Oh my god, _ ” the voice was laughing and sobbing at the same time, and Steve recognized this voice. He was in shock. It was Bucky.

He put his hand over his mouth and sat down. “Bucky,” he said, affirmative. He knew it was him.

“ _ You’re real. You’re alive. Oh my god, _ ” Bucky clearly couldn’t hold his excitement in.

“So are you -”

“ _ Are you okay? How are you feeling? _ ” Bucky cut him off.

“I’m fine, Bucky, how did you find me?”

“ _ Sam helped me track your sister’s phone number. Son of a bitch didn’t believe you were real until now, _ ” he was laughing.

“That’s crazy…” he said softly, “I can’t believe you’re… talking to me.”

“ _ It still feels like a dream, doesn’t it? _ ”

“I hope it’s not,” he let out a small laugh.

There was a faint voice in the background and Bucky said, ” _ Oh, right. Save my number and call me… when you want to _ .”

“I will, Buck.” Steve smiled widely.

“ _ Alright. I’ve got to go. I wish we could talk, like… forever, _ ” he said quietly.

“Me too, dear.”

“ _ Goodnight, Steve _ ,” his voice was soft and quiet, like he was embarrassed.

“Goodnight, Buck.” Steve waited for Bucky to hang up, and he did, but only after a few long seconds of silence.

 

***

 

He didn’t need much more time to start packing his backpack. It was 3 AM but Steve had slept enough. He shoved just any piece of clothing from his closet into the backpack, filling it whole in five minutes. He took his asthma inhaler and a small air filtering device as well.

He couldn’t wait any longer but couldn’t just wake Natasha up like this (again) either. What would he do? Explain the whole situation to half conscious Natasha at 3 AM?

He left a note.

_ D̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶N̶a̶t̶  Natasha _

_ I’m leaving for a moment, I’ll be back soon. I promise I’ll be safe. _

_ I̶ ̶m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶b̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶m̶e̶. _

_ Sorry if you’re worried. Love you, _

_ Steve _

_ P.S. I took your car. Sorry. _

 

He drove to the nearest car charging station. Natasha’s battery was only half full. He charged it to hundred percent in fifteen minutes. He bought a couple liters of water, in the big five liter bottles and put them in the trunk. He also got some snacks for the ride.

The GPS showed him the most optimal way to get to Washington and he was ought to get there by 8 AM.

He felt as though he was running on pure adrenaline, his mind occupied with thoughts about Bucky. What will it feel like when they meet in real life? What will it look like? Will Bucky love him as his real life self, not as his dream projection?

 

***

 

Crossing the border was difficult. The robocops searched his whole car, then his body, then they checked his citizen status. They wrote his name along the dotted line on a paper permit to cross the border, gave him a week until he could still come back legally and stamped it with red ink.

As soon as he entered the Southern zone everything felt different. The buildings were abandoned, ruined, crumbling into dust. People lived on the streets, among trash and dust, in fact everything was covered in it, a thick layer of reddish sand.

His car had an air filtering system but he began to worry what his lungs would do when he left it and stepped outside. He was worried about Bucky’s health, he’s lived in those conditions his whole life. He made a mental note to take him to a lung scan once he’s in North.

It was getting hotter and hotter as he drove farther. It was common knowledge that the ozone layer was very much gone in this part of the country. The Northern government has made an effort to rebuild it about 10 years ago, and although it didn’t work the same way as nature, it still protected people from the sun’s radiation better than the gaping hole over the South. Since they were children they were always taught in school to put on sunscreen and wear clothes that covered the skin well. Now Steve’s hoodie was soaking with sweat and the car was just a tin can taking in all the heat it could; it didn’t help that the AC was just blowing in warm air.

The GPS showed two hours left to drive. Two hours until he could see his  _ soulmate _ .

His phone rang. It was Natasha. She must’ve woken up and read the note.

His phone automatically connected to the car’s speakers. Instead of a kind hello she simply said,  _ “Steve? What the hell was that note supposed to mean, huh?” _

“So you’re awake?” he smirked.

_ "Yeah, and I wanted to go to work, but surprise, my car was gone.” _

“I’m sorry about that, Nat.” He was, in fact, genuinely sorry.

_ "Could’ve let me know earlier you would take it, man. I was late to work and it wasn’t fun.” _

“I didn’t want to wake you up and, uh… I decided on that like three hours ago, so…”

Natasha just sighed to the phone, “ _ And where the hell are you even going?” _

“To… see a friend,” he said in an asking tone.

_ “And couldn’t you just use the subway or any other public transport to do that? _ ” she sounded visibly annoyed.

“Well, you can’t exactly get to his place by subway.”

“ _ Then where the hell does he live _ ?” there was a brief stop, then Natasha put two and two together. The man who called him last night, his location, Steve’s reaction,  _ “Steve, tell me you’re not going to the fucking South, _ ” she raised her voice.

“I’m going to the fucking South,” he said calmly.

_ “No, you’re not, Steve? What the actual fuck? Why the hell are you going there? _ ”

“I told you, to see a friend,” Steve was actually laughing.

“ _ How the fuck do you even know him?” _

“Uh… internet?” How the hell would he ever tell her he met Bucky in his dreams.

_ “You met a guy in the internet and you’re going to the fucking South to see him? Are you okay, Steve? Don’t you have any other friends? Jesus.” _

“Calm down, Nat. It’s gonna be fine.”

_ “Fine? No, it’s not, Steve. It’s not safe out there and you’re not even safe here, let alone in the South.” _

“I promise, I’ll be safe. I’m sorry for worrying you but it’s really not that big of a deal, Nat.”

_ “How do you even know that he’s your friend? He could be a human trafficker or something and sell you to some creepy guy with a mustache.” _

“It’s hard to explain but, uh.. I know him well. He’s a good guy, alright? Trust me on this one.”

_ “Steve, I swear to God if your tiny ass gets into trouble again.” _

“Nat. I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in couple days.”

_ “Whatever, man. I gotta go to work, stay safe out there, okay? Bye.” _

She hung up before he could say anything.

 

***

 

He got into Washington D.C. He was terrified. He called Bucky. Bucky didn’t answer. He called again.

_ “Yes? Steve? _ ” he said, his happiness spilling out of the phone.

“Hi, Buck. Listen, I… am in Washington,” he stuttered.

There was silence on the other end, then Bucky said, in awe, “ _ You’re what now? _ ”

“I’m coming to you.”

“ _ Oh God… where are you?” _

“About ten minutes from the Chain Bridge.”

“ _ Alright then… just wait by the gate, I’ll come there, _ ” his voice was shaky. He hung up in panic.

 

***

 

“What the fuck,” Bucky whispered to himself as he clenched his hair in his fists. His anxiety was rising up at the thought that  _ he has to go outside.  _ His every outgoing was planned beforehand, he had to prepare mentally for living this shithole. But this was unexpected. Very fucking unexpected.

The feelings of anxiety and panic were mixing with happiness and anticipation. Steve is here. So close to him. He’s going to see him in couple minutes and he can’t believe it, but also  _ he has to go fucking outside. _

“It’s okay,” he was telling himself as he began putting on his boots, distracting himself with the tedious task of tying his shoelaces with one hand. He pulled his hoodie over his head and just ran outside like a kid scared of the dark. The faster you do it, the less it hurts, right?

 

***

 

Steve parked his car on a private parking lot, secured by some guys wanting to make easy money. They joked about where he got that car, if it was either from Jimmy’s or Robbie’s, because only they had managed to smuggle such nice cars. He panicked and repeated a random name he’s heard from them and they all agreed. He quickly ran away.

He walked about five minutes to the gate Bucky’s talked about. It was an old chain-like fence, eaten by rust, the gates wide open, people coming in and out. In fact, there was a lot of people around him, a lot of them were lining in front of food stores, robocops pushing two women to their knees and searching their bags.

He tried to walk unnoticed, though he was coughing every other minute from the dust filled air. He tried to find his inhaler in his pockets, but he quickly realized he’d left it in the car.

He looked ahead of himself and saw a man walking towards Steve. He had long hair, his head let down. He was walking sort of tilted to one side, his left sleeve empty. He lifted his head and froze when he saw Steve. Steve froze when he saw him too. He knew it was Bucky, it had to be him. He took a small step forward, then a second one and before he knew he was speed walking towards Buck.

And Bucky was standing there still, unable to move or do anything, he didn’t even know if he was breathing. And Steve was standing right before him. And he smiled like a thousand suns and wrapped his arms around Bucky, and Bucky let out a small cry, because he hasn’t been touched for so long, and Steve was real, and he was warm and smelled good.

So he wrapped his arm around Steve too and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“Hi,” Steve said in a small voice, basically whispering to Bucky.

“Hi,” he replied. He let go of his grip even though he very much didn’t want to, he didn’t want people to stare or make comments. So he grabbed Steve’s hand and very quickly led him to his home.

And after they walked two sets of stairs and opened the doors to Bucky’s tiny room, and closed them behind themselves they were finally alone.

And Bucky was still holding Steve’s hand and he smiled at the sight of it. Steve gently brushed his left cheek and stepped very much closer, his nose almost touching Bucky’s, them staring into each other’s eyes. And their lips met in a soft kiss, like it was their first time kissing, the first real one. And the kiss became deeper, Steve gently sucking on Bucky’s lower lip, slowly sliding his tongue into his mouth. And Bucky was in complete awe, his legs getting weak, but the bulge in his pants growing. Steve felt the familiar warmth in his stomach, that was spreading lower in between his legs.

Bucky couldn’t resist but brush his bulge against Steve’s pants, he was craving the touch.

And Steve’s arousal skyrocketed when he felt how hard Bucky already was. So he let himself slide one hand into Bucky’s pants and help him out. When Steve’s hand touched Bucky’s dick he let out a desperate moan into his mouth, which made Steve smile. All Bucky said was “Bed.”

So they parted for a split second, when Steve lightly pushed Bucky to fall on the bed and then sat right on top of him, leaning in to kiss him. Bucky’s hand was wandering underneath Steve’s shirt, then he pulled it up, with a little help of Steve himself. Then Steve unzipped Bucky’s hoodie, and to his surprise, Bucky was already bare chested underneath it, which made things a lot easier.

“Wanna ride me?” Bucky mumbled quickly.

Steve just smiled wide and kissed him as a  _ yes.  _ He stepped aside to take his pants off, then asked, “You’ve got some condoms? And lube?”

Bucky pointed out to the wooden nightstand, and Steve quickly found what he was looking for. Bucky took his pants off and let Steve sit on top of him again. He threw a blanket over them, it was cold. Then he offered Bucky to put a condom on him, which Bucky happily agreed to; doing it with one hand was pretty difficult and would take way too much time.

Steve poured some lube on his hand and spread it over Bucky’s cock, and that light touch already felt amazing to him. Bucky couldn’t wait for what was coming next.

Steve grabbed it and gently slid it into himself, moaning quietly at the brief pain that came with not stretching himself out first, but he liked when it hurt. Bucky threw his head back into the mattress, mouth wide open.

Steve leaned over onto Bucky’s chest, hugging him and keeping them warm, he pulled his hips up and down slowly, until he could catch onto a steady pace that he liked. Bucky’s moans were so quiet, Steve only heard them when he put his ear to Bucky’s lips, but they turned him on so much still.

Bucky was arching his hips unwillingly, just to bury himself in Steve’s warmth for longer, his body craving him so badly. He thrusted into him every time Steve stopped for a moment, trying to hit him in the right spot, his moans guiding him to it. And Steve was so fucking beautiful, his hair sticking to his forehead, Bucky trying to brush it back when he was clutching onto it for dear life. The sun rays were lighting it up, making it look golden. The whole of Steve was bathed in light.

“Oh, fuck, Steve, I’m coming,” he mumbled.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered into his ear not long before he felt Bucky’s legs shaking underneath him.”

And Bucky came inside Steve’s warmth, holding onto him like he didn’t want to let go. And Steve fell right next to him on the bed, his arms still wrapped around Bucky in a tight hug.

Bucky needed a moment before his orgasm washed out, then he threw the condom out and cuddled to Steve even closer.

“Steve?” he whispered shyly, “Can I eat you out.”

Steve just smiled brightly and kissed Bucky’s lips.

“Of course, baby”

So he lowered himself to face Steve’s vagina, and Steve shifted his position a little, throwing his legs on Bucky’s back and making himself more accessible.

Bucky knew only one thing, and it was to look for the clitoris. And it wasn’t hard to find at all.

He began kissing Steve’s inner thighs, which made Steve take a deep breath. He was leaning into Bucky’s lips.

Bucky then wandered with his tongue onto Steve’s vulva, exploring it and studying Steve’s reaction. At the end of it he gently sucked on his clit, which obviously Steve enjoyed the most. He clutched onto Bucky’s hair and onto the bedsheets with both his hands.

He worked in circles, petting every part of it with his tongue, just to end on the grand part of pleasure - Steve’s clit. And it seemed to drive Steve crazy, he was moaning despite himself, leaning in, asking for more, asking to be undone.

“Please, fuck me, oh God, Bucky,” he was raving, his legs clutching at Bucky’s head.

And Bucky very much enjoyed himself, he loved to make Steve moan, he loved to make Steve beg for more. And all of a sudden, after the hundredth time Bucky has made that exact move with his tongue, Steve arched his back and threw his head into the mattress, his legs shaking, his mouth letting out a cry.

Bucky let himself go up to lay next to Steve, who was now, a trembling mess, and wrap his arm around his chest. Steve was really glowing now, with happiness and the pleasure of sex. Bucky felt butterflies in his belly.

“Fuck,” was all Steve said.

“Wanna go for round two?” Bucky asked, a bit shyly. He just loved how beautiful Steve looked when he came, he could watch it non stop.

Steve let out a small laugh, “You’re serious?”

Bucky nodded.

“Alright, but this time you’re bottoming,” he smiled widely, raising his fingers up.

Bucky immediately felt a wave of arousal coming onto him at the mere thought of being fucked by Steve.

Steve sat on the bed and told Bucky to lay on his lap, he put a cushion under him for some extra comfort, and Bucky was in heaven.

Steve lubed one finger and gently pushed it into Bucky’s ass. Bucky got tense for a second but relaxed under the pleasurable feeling. He was pushing it in deeper and deeper with each thrust, and Bucky was already falling apart.

“Oh, one more, Steve. Please,” he was moaning, trying to muffle himself with a pillow.

So Steve added in a second finger. Bucky’s back arched, so Steve pushed him down with his palm, holding him down like a hostage. It was turning Bucky on beyond words. Steve’s fingers were hitting his prostate ruthlessly, he began speeding up his pace, fingerfucking his ass like his life depended on it, and Bucky was already lost in the pleasure. Steve let himself slap Bucky’s ass, which Bucky fucking loved, and his dick was rubbing on Steve’s leg and leaking in precum already.

It didn’t take long before Bucky came again, and he cried out Steve’s name as he did.

“Turns out you enjoy it rough, darling.” Steve was pretty much fluent in dirty talk.

“Hell yes I do,” Bucky replied hoarsely, still outstretched on Steve’s lap, leaking onto his leg and the bedsheets.

Steve laid down and Bucky pulled himself up to cuddle right next to him. They were all hot and sweaty but they still clutched to each other.

“So, uh, here’s that for our first meeting,” Steve chuckled.

Bucky just wrapped himself around Steve tighter and smiled into his chest. Steve could feel it and his heart fluttered.

“Do you wanna stay in bed for a while?” Bucky whispered.

Steve turned his head to kiss Bucky’s forehead. “With you, always.”

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello frens. i'm so sorry for the long wait, to recompense i painted a little concept art of steve's roof! here's the link to the picture: imgur.com/a/AdaqTmU

Steve was standing by the stove, stirring beans in the pan. Bucky was sitting by the small table, texting Sam.

“Where do you have some bowls or plates?” Steve asked, turning the stove off.

Bucky turned around to take a quick look at the dirty dishes laying in the kitchen sink. He was pretty sure there weren’t any bowls and plates left to eat from. “I’m afraid we have to eat from the pan.”

Steve gave him _a look_ and just sat quietly next to Bucky, putting the pan on the table and giving them two spoons.

“Bon Appetit, I guess,” said Steve, blowing at his spoon for the beans to cool down.

Bucky grinned. “Do you have better food in North?”

“A little bit. Though I doubt it’s any healthier.” He shrugged.

“Oh, Sam is going to be there soon,” said Bucky, reading his texts.

Steve nodded. They’d talked about Bucky leaving South. Steve knew that Sam had the right men who’d help them accomplish that.

 

***

 

“So you’re the dream guy, huh?” Sam shook Steve’s hand. He looked between him and Bucky and smiled widely. “I thought he was going crazy, not gonna lie.”

Steve chuckled. He looked at Bucky who was visibly embarrassed. “It’s hard to believe, I know,” he said.

They all sat at the table and the dust rose up from the floor, flying in the air. Steve coughed, feeling his lungs burn a little. He reached into his pocket automatically to grab his inhaler, but it was empty. He remembered he’d left it in the damn car.

“Bucky knows Clint, he’s the guy who makes fake IDs,” Sam started. “He and his pals are going on a trip soon, to North. I’d told you about it,” he spoke to Bucky. “You could go with them or you could go with Steve.”

“I’d rather go with Steve,” Bucky spoke calmly.

“Right. There’s things to keep in mind though. If they arrest you, if they find out you’re illegal, Steve’s gonna go down with you. For helping you cross the border,” Sam’s tone was grim. “If you go with Clint and they catch you, at least one of you doesn’t go to prison.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Steve answered quickly.

Bucky just looked at him with a small frown. He couldn’t believe that Steve would risk going to prison for him.

“The fakes, are they good?” Steve asked Sam.

“Best I know.” He leaned in his chair.

“Still, the robocops can bypass that…” Bucky added in a quiet voice.

“Well, there’s a high probability they won’t. A lot of people succeed in crossing the border that way,” Sam sighed. “Plus, that’s your _only_ way…”

Steve gave him a sad smile. He turned to Bucky, “It’s gonna work out,” he reassured him.

“You don’t know that…” Bucky sighed. “I won’t let you get hurt because of me.”

“There is no other way, Buck,” he replied, quietly.

“Look, if things go wrong, I’ll do my best to get you out of there,” Sam said firmly. “You’re my family.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Bucky was genuinely smiling, although through his anxiety and worry.

“It’s gonna work,” Sam looked at both of them with a smile.

 

***

 

They were lying in bed, cuddled to each other, limbs tangled together. The sun was setting down, painting yellow lines on top of them, cut out through the blinds.

Steve had brought his belongings inside from the car; most importantly - his inhaler. His lungs were burning more and more with every cough.

Bucky cupped Steve’s face with his hand, rubbing his thumb along his cheek. His skin felt soft under the touch. He moved his hand up to brush Steve’s hair off of his forehead, and Steve lifted the corners of his lips involuntarily.

“This may be the last time we ever see each other again,” Bucky whispered. He couldn’t help his grim mood - his anxiety filling up his entire body.

Steve’s grin disappeared from his face. “It’s gon’ be okay, love,” he whispered back.

Bucky seemed startled away, closed off. “You shouldn’t have to put your own money into my ID.”

“I told you, it’s not a problem,” Steve replied, “And you can give it back if you want.”

“You can be damn sure I will.” Bucky intended for his words to sound brighter, but all that came out was a cold growl. The atmosphere in the room was tense. “And I’ll have to stay at your place anyway… God, you’re doing so much for me.” Bucky wiped his face with his palm.

Steve didn’t realize until now, that Bucky couldn’t understand how anyone would want to do anything for him, and the thought ached him in the heart. He was ready to do everything for Bucky and it didn’t cross his mind, that Bucky certainly didn’t think the same of himself.

“Cos’ you deserve it…” was all Steve said.

Bucky seemed almost surprised at that reply, furrowing his eyebrows. “But I can’t do anything for you… to pay you back.”

Steve’s expression saddened even more. “Bucky… It’s not always about paying someone back. Not everyone cares for someone for their own profit,” his voice was quiet, breaking a little. “You care for someone because you love them.”

Bucky had tears in his eyes, he let out a small laugh. He felt almost embarrassed and he couldn’t quite comprehend why.

“I love you.” Steve had a small smile on his lips. When he let the words out of him, he felt a weight ease up on his stomach.

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he heard those words coming from somebody’s lips. He couldn’t remember them coming from his own lips either. They sounded almost foreign to him by now.

He buried himself in Steve’s chest in an almost erratic way, pulling their bodies closer, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist. And if he was crying, no one would’ve been able to tell.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into Steve’s shirt. If it weren’t for Steve’s arms wrapping up tighter around him, he would’ve thought Steve hadn’t even heard him.

 

***

 

Steve had dozed off cuddled in Bucky’s arms. And Bucky was just listening to Steve’s breathing, sometimes it was uneven, sometimes Steve let out a cough from his mouth that shook his whole body, then Bucky would hold him tighter and tuck him back to sleep.

He stared at Steve’s restful manner, his face undisturbed, his eyelashes long and dark. The dim outside light reflecting on the very top of his nose and cheekbones, making him look like a marble statue. _So beautiful_.

Bucky brushed Steve’s face lightly with the tips of his fingers, it was warm and smooth.

He was insomniac, but he didn’t want to drug himself anymore. He wanted to start over with Steve, now that he was asleep in Bucky’s bed, right next to him, so unbelievably close. He still couldn’t quite believe it, couldn’t stop thinking it was just another dream.

He caught himself looking for clues throughout the day, staring at the clock, seeing if it was moving, if the time was changing. It was, and it couldn’t do that in the dream world.

Bucky spent his night cogitating about the morning that was inevitably coming closer and closer, and the more time he spent thinking about it, the nearer it was.

 

***

 

Steve was woken up by a rattle in the room. He was startled and quickly got up from the bed, paranoid about any danger that could’ve gotten to them. He automatically looked for any potential weapons in the room, for the way he could defend them and escape. The rattle was coming from the little bathroom. Steve’s mind, more awake now, realized Bucky wasn’t lying in the bed.

He sighed. Obviously it was Bucky in the bathroom, making the noise.

He approached the slightly opened doors and peeked inside to see Bucky slouching over the toilet. Steve kneeled next to him quickly and brushed his hair back, holding them in a ponytail.

Bucky retched into the toilet, a shiver running through his body.

“Buck, what’s wrong?” Steve put his palm on Bucky’s back, rubbing it gently.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” he reassured Steve, his voice was weak and coarse.

He vomited into the toilet. Steve grabbed strands of hair that escaped his grip.

“You don’t look fine to me,” Steve’s voice was full of worry.

Bucky leaned back and let himself fall onto Steve’s chest, and Steve just wrapped his arms around him. Bucky’s forehead was really warm, sweat dripping down his temples, but his body was shivering with cold.

“Take a hot shower,” Steve murmured above Bucky’s head.

“Good idea,” Bucky whispered. “Can you watch out for me, though? I don’t wanna pass out in here.”

“Of course, babe,” a smile curled up his lips. “I can even shower with you, if you want.”

Steve felt Bucky’s body stiffen up a little, and he thought it was quite adorable.

Bucky almost choked on his words, “Ye - of co - _yes_.” His cheeks flushed with hot pink.

They were standing under the running hot water. At first Bucky was quite shy, he was mostly turning his back to Steve, but then Steve poured some shower gel on his palm and gently touched Bucky’s shoulders, as to not startle him. He massaged the soap into his back, then got another handful of gel to wash Bucky’s hair.

When his hair was covered in foam, Bucky slowly turned around to face Steve and smiled wildly. He almost threw himself into Steve’s arms, hugging him tightly, burying his face in Steve’s chest. And Steve didn’t know it was possible to feel even more warmth inside than he already had.

 

***

 

They’ve impatiently waited for a knock on the door, being on pins and needles. Bucky hadn’t taken much time to pack his belongings, he’d never owned much, living here had been like a temporary stay for him, even though he had spent most of his life here. They had placed the bags on top of the bed and everything else had been left intact.

When the knock finally came, they looked at each other for a brief second and Bucky got up to answer the door. Sam stood in the doorway, holding his hands in pockets.

“Hey, man,” Bucky greeted him, to what Sam answered by patting him on the back.

“I’ve got your papers,” he declared, sitting down by the table.

“So it’s really happening…” Bucky mumbled to himself, joining Sam and Steve by the table.

Sam reached into his pocket and placed a booklet on the countertop. “Here you go. Your birth certificate, ID and passport. Born and raised in Indiana, family name Chekov.”

Bucky reached onto the papers and opened the booklet. “It says James Rogers in here,” he frowned.

“Oh and you’re married now,” Sam added.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “We’re what now?”

“It helps with the legal stuff. You can’t testify against each other in court and all that shit. Y’know, in case the cover doesn’t work.”

Steve just thought about Natasha finding out about all this, him bringing Bucky home and announcing her that they’re suddenly married now.

“I imagined our marriage looking way different than that,” Bucky chuckled.

Steve looked bewildered and happily surprised at the same time. The thought of Bucky already thinking about their marriage made his heart flutter. Steve himself hasn’t really had time for that, yet.

“What do you think about it, _my husband_?” Bucky had a shit eating grin on his face.

“I’m glad that you’ve already planned our wedding,” Steve smirked at him.

“I’m gonna miss you, guys,” said Sam. “You too, Steve, even though I’ve just met you.” To which Steve just giggled.

“ _Aww._ I’ll miss you too. Come visit someday,” Bucky gave him a sad smile.

Sam just got up to embrace Bucky, staying quiet as to not bring up any more emotions to his surface. Sam was not a type of person to wear his emotions on his sleeve. They hugged tightly and Bucky said, “You’re my brother, Sam.”

“And you’re mine, buddy,” he patted his back. “And I guess you’re my brother-in-law now,” he spoke to Steve as he turned around, smirking.

Sam approached Steve and embraced him as well. “Take care of him, alright?” he said.

“I will,” responded Steve, his voice low and serious.

 

***

 

Steve held Bucky’s hand tightly when they stepped outside. He knew that Bucky hated outdoors and hated cars, but he stayed close to him, trying to bring him any tiniest comfort he could.

By the time Steve started the engine, Bucky had already had three panic attacks. Steve just held him close to his chest, covering his ears, reminding him that he was safe. Over and over again.

And when they departed Bucky managed to calm down. The car was running smooth and quiet, bringing peace to Bucky’s nerves. He leaned over the window, listening to the radio and Steve humming along to it. A soft, comforting hum.

“I think it’d be good, if you went to therapy, Buck,” Steve said, right after the song ended.

“Yeah. Certainly,” he murmured.

“I used to go to therapy too and it really did help,” he added. “I can even go with you if you’d like, if that’d make you feel safe.”

Bucky smiled at him. “I think that would be helpful, thank you.”

Steve smiled back. “And by the way, you should get your lungs checked and all that stuff. All the dust and pollution…” he sighed.

“Okay,” he replied, quietly.

“How are you feeling? Are you holding on?”

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad. The last time I got into a car was... “ he cut off. “They’ve changed since - a lot.”

“Okay, just tell me if something is wrong, baby. We can take some rest.” Steve took one hand off the wheel to rub Bucky’s shoulder.

“Of course,” he smiled.

The car’s cockpit lit up and a phone ringtone followed. Natasha was calling.

“Hey, Nat,” Steve had a grin on his face.

“ _Oh hey, so you’re alive_ ,” her voice sounded like a mix of anger and annoyance.

“Sorry for not calling, it’s been busy out here.”

“ _You’re still in the South?_ ”

“Yeah, but we’re driving home right now.”

Natasha paused. “ _We?_ ”

Steve’s eyes widened. He didn’t mean for it to slip out. “I guess it’s better if you find out now… I’m bringing him home with me.”

Natasha stammered. “ _Is that… even legal?”_

“Not really…” Steve pitched his voice.

“ _Okay. Cool,_ “ she sounded absolutely done with Steve’s shit. “ _So, uh, when are you gonna be here?_ ”

“Less than three hours. If we don’t get arrested.” Steve seemed pretty careless.

Bucky snorted with laughter. He covered his face with his hand.

“ _Okay, then. If you don’t get arrested there’s dinner in the fridge,_ ” she replied, calmly.

“Thanks, sister. See you later.” He smirked.

“ _See you, lovebirds._ ” She hung up.

 

***

 

They were driving up to the border control and Bucky thought he was going to throw up.

Two robocops were standing there, waiting for their car, and slightly behind them was a flesh and bone guard. They ordered them to get out of the car, then proceeded to search it all very thoroughly.

The man was checking their citizen status on the tablet he held, swiping through their documents. “You guys went on your honeymoon in there?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“We like to travel,” Steve answered calmly.

“Nothing fancy to see there, I think,” he snorted.

“I’m an artist, I like this type of… views.” He smiled, looking around.

“Is your husband alright? He’s not looking well.” The man pointed out.

Steve looked at Bucky, who was staring at the ground this whole time, his eyes wide with fear. “He’s not been feeling well. That’s why we’re coming back home,” Steve answered with a worried tone and put his arm around Bucky.

They shuddered when the robocops shut the trunk of the car with their full force behind their backs.

The guard then proceeded to search their bodies, and at the same time that he finished, the robocops did as well.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” said the man.

Steve thanked him and helped Bucky walk to the car. When they got in and closed the door, they needed a few seconds to settle in. Just sat there in silence, took a deep breath and looked at each other with sheer incredulity in their eyes.

Then Steve took off like he wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.

“So we’re in the North,” Bucky sighed, bewildered.

And then they both bursted out with laughter, all the uncertainty of their fate mixed with anxiety coming off of them in a wave of stark chuckle.

 

***

 

They were now in Brooklyn, heading to Steve’s highrise. When they passed by the very same intersection that Steve had his accident on, his emotions were mixed. Trauma and happiness coming in waves onto him, because, _hell, he could’ve been dead now,_ but if that hadn’t happened, he would’ve never met Bucky. So he felt gratitude, to the fate, no matter how twisted it was.

He parked Nat’s car in the underground garage of his building, and when he turned the engine off, they just sat in the car in silence for a few moments. When Steve turned to look at Bucky, he was staring into space, his face expressionless. Steve carefully laid his hand on Bucky’s lap and called him softly. Bucky took a deep breath and turned to face him.

“Are you okay?” Steve’s voice was soft and steady.

Bucky lifted a corner of his lips. “It’s just hard to… comprehend.”

“I know, love,” Steve gave him a sad smile. “It’s just gonna be you and me today, you don’t have to meet anyone else.”

“Thank you,” whispered Bucky.

“Are you ready to get out?”

Bucky shook his head. They opened the doors and stepped out of the car. Steve pulled their baggage out of the trunk, his both hands occupied. Bucky slid his arm under Steve’s and grabbed him by his elbow to still hold him.

They stepped into the elevator and stood on the opposite sides of it, staring at each other like they could understand one another perfectly without even speaking. And when the doors opened, Steve got out onto the hallway first and rushed to his apartment door to open it.

Bucky approached him carefully, stepping out of the elevator like it could fall down any second. Steve held the door open for him, inviting him in in an exaggerated manner, to which Bucky finally curled his lips.

He stepped in and saw all the light coming through the giant windows, all the color in Steve’s apartment. It looked rather eclectic, lived in, but still very modern. Bucky could definitely see that it belonged to Steve, it looked like a home that was owned by an artist.

“I like it,” he giggled, to which Steve brightened up a lot.

Steve put his hands on Bucky’s hips and hugged him from behind, pressing his face to the back of Bucky’s neck. It tickled Bucky a little bit and he wiggled in Steve’s grip, chuckling.

Steve put his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Wanna take a nap? You must be exhausted.”

“Will you be next to me?” he asked shyly.

“Of course.”

So they walked to the bedroom and literally threw themselves on the double bed. Bucky pulled the covers over him, leaving only his nose out, and Steve gave it a little smooch. They cuddled to each other, limbs tangled together. Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s head, caressing his hair. He didn’t really feel like falling asleep, his tiredness was more emotional than physical, but he was there for Bucky, he wanted to keep him warm and safe.

And not long after, Steve could hear Bucky snoozing, his breathing became deep and regular, his body loosened its grip. He felt warmth inside of his belly, the love that he felt for this man wrapped in a burrito of blankets laying right next to him. He couldn’t believe that they were so close together, in the real world, not only in the dream one.

 

***

 

Steve’s dozed off just a tiny bit, but the vibration in his jeans’ pocket woke him back up. He pulled his phone out and the screen was lit up with a notification of a message from Nat.

 

_Are you home??_

_yes._

_Can I come in?_

_just be quiet. he’s sleeping._

 

Natasha lived on the same floor as Steve, the only thing separating their apartments was the hallway. They’d wanted to be close to each other, to live together, in a way, but still maintain privacy.

Steve heard a faint sound of the doors opening, he almost never locked them when he was home. He saw a flash of red hair behind the nearly closed bedroom doors, Natasha looking for them in all the rooms, tip toeing around. His apartment wasn’t big, so she quickly entered the bedroom, carefully opening the wooden doors to peak inside.

When Steve saw her, he grinned brightly, especially now that Natasha was rolling her eyes at them. She leaned over the door frame, smiling and shaking her head at Steve. “You’re so cute,” she mouthed in silence, squinting her eyes.

Steve turned to Bucky, who was deep asleep, and decided to carefully get up as to not wake him up. When he was out of bed, he made sure Bucky was still asleep and then left the room with Nat, closing the door behind them.

“What’s up with that, Steve?” she asked, raising her brow.

“It’s complicated,” was all Steve mastered to come up with. “Is that okay if you meet him, like, tomorrow or something… he’s been through a lot today and, uh, he’s exhausted,” Steve sighed, then added, “mentally _and_ physically.”

Natasha nodded understandably. “Sure.” She smiled.

“Thanks.” He gave her a sad smile.

“Are _you_ okay?” She poked him in the shoulder.

Steve frowned, smiling awkwardly. He actually took a moment to think about it. “I’m... happy. Kind of stunned, but happy.” He involuntarily peeked at the closed bedroom door. “It’s been crazy couple of days.”

He couldn’t quite grasp on the fact that just a few days ago he crashed his motorcycle, nearly died, went into a coma, met a goddamn person in his dreams, travelled to the South to meet him, unwittingly married him, then illegally transported him across the border, and  now this man was sleeping in his bed.

“I’m glad, Steve,” she was as genuine as there could be. “I’ll leave you guys alone,” she smirked. “Feed the guy, he must be starving.” She began walking towards the door.

“Thanks, Nat. I will.”

“Dinner’s in the fridge!” she called out, closing the door behind her.

 

***

 

When Bucky opened his eyes, he saw that Steve was still next to him. He was rested over the headboard, sitting with one knee up. He had a sketchbook in his hand, holding it down to the knee, his other hand maneuvering a pencil. Steve would stop for a while to tilt his head slightly, staring at the page, then come back to drawing.

Bucky’s lips curled up in a smile, he decided to wait and see how long it’d take for Steve to notice that he was awake. And soon enough, Steve peeked at him, (out of habit - Bucky assumed) and his face brightened up. The frown of an artist focused on his piece disappeared from his forehead, he grinned at Bucky, his eyes smiling as well.

Steve closed his sketchbook and put it aside on the bedside table. “How was your nap?” he asked, smiling brightly.

“It was good.” Bucky was actually surprised that he’d gotten a good sleep for a change. He felt safe next to Steve, knowing that he was at _home_ , for once.

Steve lay down next to Bucky and kissed the tip of his nose, giggling like a child. Bucky felt like a teenager being in love for the first time, his stomach hurt in the good way and he couldn’t stop staring at Steve. He got out from underneath the bed sheets and crawled on top of Steve, sitting across his thighs.

Steve raised his hand to cup Bucky’s face and pulled him down, making their lips meet. He kissed him deeply, like he was starving for it and couldn’t get enough of him, breathing through the nose until the breath was gone. And everything slowed, everything was perfect for a minute.

“I love you so much,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s face. He closed his eyes and laid his forehead on Steve’s.

“I love you, too. More than anything,” Steve whispered back. He held Bucky’s face in his palms, caressing the skin with his thumbs. He outstretched his neck to lay a gentle kiss on Bucky’s forehead, burying his fingers in Bucky’s messy waves.

And so they stayed in each other’s arms, two soulmates tangled with undying love, bodies close together like they were one.

  
  



	5. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

 

Bucky jiggled the keys in his hand before opening the door lock, his right arm was loaded with grocery bags hanging at the forearm. They all fell in the way when he lowered his arm as he was trying to open the door, and he cursed under his breath. Finally the door opened and he let the bags gently fall onto the floor right next to the entrance.

“You home, babe?” Steve called from within the apartment.

Bucky hummed back, having the top of his jacket in his mouth, holding it with teeth so he could unzip it. He took his boots off and headed to the living room, where he’d seen the TV playing.

Steve was lying on the couch in light grey sweatpants and bare chested, his blonde hair was a hot mess. Bucky didn’t need more than a glance to state that he was still the most beautiful man in the world.

“How was therapy?” Steve asked with a big smile on his face.

Bucky shrugged. “As always, you know.” He leaned over the couch. “I feel good, though.”

Steve raised his arm and grabbed Bucky’s face suspended over his. He brushed hairs that escaped Bucky’s bun behind his ear. He smiled even more and gazed into his eyes.

“I’m glad, baby,” Steve said softly.

Bucky leaned closer to kiss him. When their lips met, Steve just wanted to pull Bucky closer and closer until he eventually fell over the header and smashed right into Steve. His knee happened to land in between Steve’s legs and for a moment Bucky’s face was mortified until a second later they both bursted out with laughter.

“God, it’s good I don’t have balls,” Steve managed to blurt out between his wheezing laughter.

Bucky lay on top of him. “Shut up,” he chuckled. He gave Steve a quick kiss on the lips and got up from the couch.

When he was walking toward the kitchen, he noticed their strap-on was lying on the floor, right next to some pile of clothes, in the corner of the living room. He turned on his heel and looked at Steve with wide eyes.

“You didn’t wash it, did you?” Bucky asked.

Steve’s face expression quickly changed, like it was saying  _ oh _ .

“Steve, that’s so gross!” Bucky screamed to the ceiling and walked away to the kitchen.

He picked up the groceries and began putting them in the fridge and the cabinets. His diet was so much richer now that he lived in the North. Sometimes the fruit trees on the roof would grow small apples and oranges. They always celebrated these moments, being able to eat a real, non-processed and non-lab-grown food.

He opened a cabinet on the very top and a large object fell on the floor with a dull thud. He looked down and saw his old prosthetic arm, dismantled in two pieces, lying on the concrete. He’d gotten it about six months after moving to Steve’s place, but he’d never grown to like it. It was heavy and uncomfortable, an old technology. New prosthetics were expensive and Bucky didn’t know if he even wanted an arm at all. He’s been used to his stump, living with it most of his life. He’d learned and accommodated to doing every task with it and having an arm again would mean having to learn everything all from the start.

Plus, he liked being dominated by Steve in bed anyway, so there really was nothing he needed the arm for.

He saw Steve rushing to the front door, calling “Nat’s coming!”

And there she was, with a bowl of popcorn and a smartphone in her hand, wearing sweatpants and a tank top. “It’s movie night!” she spoke in a diva-like voice.

Bucky grinned and came to greet her. He hugged her tightly and Natasha gave him a smooch on the cheek, saying, “Hi, honey.” She radiated light and happiness.

Only then did Bucky notice that Steve was wearing a goddamn silk pink bathrobe over his bare chest, that Natasha gave him for his birthday over a year ago.

Bucky couldn’t believe that Steve could still look hot in it and began slightly wishing that Natasha wasn’t in their home right now. If only he had washed that damn strap-on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://imgur.com/a/l76DbFA this picture is Natasha and Steve exactly how I imagined them to be in this fic and I can't believe it exists lmaoo.


End file.
